


He Just Wanted to Buy Her a Coat, February 1977

by BobbyCrocker101



Category: Kojak (TV 1973)
Genre: 1970s, Bribery, Contraband, Corrupt Cops, Corruption, Detectives, Gen, Manhattan South, NYPD, New York City, Stakeouts, homicides, murders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23157745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BobbyCrocker101/pseuds/BobbyCrocker101
Summary: Kojak’s thoughts concerning the events that occurred in the Season 4 episode 'Monkey on a String' with a few changes and bits added.This is an original story set in February 1977.Feedback welcome





	He Just Wanted to Buy Her a Coat, February 1977

**Author's Note:**

> None of the characters belong to me; I'm just playing with them for a while before putting them back in their box. No money is being, or will be made from this story.
> 
> I was 15 in September 1973 when "Kojak" first aired, and had other things to do. Now I'm retired I’ve finally watched this wonderful old TV show for the first time. I’m from the UK and have never visited the US, but have made use of the internet to gain information about the NYPD and the city of New York. I apologise in advance for any language confusion.
> 
> In the Season 2 episode “Nursemaid” (1974) Crocker’s ID shows him to have been born in 1943 which would make him 34 in 1977, but because he's occasionally referred to as being very young and is often called "Kid" or "Junior", my version of him was born in 1951 which makes him 26 in this story, and since little is known about his back story I've made up my own version.
> 
> Spoilers: Major spoilers for the Season 4 episode 'Monkey on a String', a tiny spoiler for the Season 2 episode 'The Betrayal' and my story 'Hell Hath no Fury'. A familiarity with the show would be useful as would reading my other stories.
> 
> Original characters: None
> 
> Enjoy!

Friday night is traditionally team night and if things are quiet we’ll often enjoy a can of beer or two and play a few hands of poker before heading home. More often than not this will take place at the precinct, but on that particular snowy Friday evening, the team minus Crocker, who was minding the store, were round at Vince and Laetitia Pomerantz’s apartment. 

If anything Vince was a worse card player than Crocker (if such a thing were possible), but the trouble with Vince was that he didn’t know when to stop and it wasn’t long before the cheque book came out. After he’d lost another hand one look at ‘Tish’s face told us we should call it a night before things became embarrassing. Once we were outside Frank expressed his concern about the amount of money Pomerantz had lost in the past six weeks, but I was more concerned with the ‘Dear John’ note ‘Tish’ had passed me from my girlfriend Monica informing me that I would be sleeping in my own bed that night rather than hers.

Tuesday morning

We'd been on a stake-out near an abandoned underground car park. A truck load of contraband was due to arrive which I hoped would lead to us finally nailing ‘Dinky’ Geller, who in turn would lead us to ‘putting the box’ on Shelley Briscoe. I was in my car out on the street waiting for the truck to arrive while Crocker had everyone else positioned down in the car park. Finally the truck appeared and biding my time I waited until it descended the ramp into the building before following and thus blocking its exit. Frank was behind me in HIS car. As soon as Briscoe’s men started unloading the ‘goodies’ Crocker called out a warning and we went into action. All in all we arrested six men, and although I saw Pomerantz go after Geller, and Crocker go after Pomerantz, somehow ‘Dinky’ got away. I was furious, both of my detectives knew how much I wanted the man, and I wasted no time in reminding them of that fact. Frank tried to ease the situation by pointing out that we HAD managed to shut down one of Briscoe’s operations and we had at least a quarter of a million dollars-worth of contraband in our possession, but I wasn't interested in the contraband, I wanted the man! 

Angrily I told Pomerantz to go and help Stavros book the guys we HAD managed to arrest, and then I had Crocker show Frank and me the room Geller had been using as an office. Once there we could see the safe was open, and empty of ledgers and cash. We also noticed the grille in front of one of the air vents had been partially pulled away, which suggested that Geller had used it as his getaway route, but personally I couldn’t see how a little fat man loaded down with ledgers could possibly have got INTO the vent let alone crawl up and out onto the roof. Still at the moment I couldn’t see how else he’d got out, so I let it lie. He was gone and for the moment that was that.

Wednesday morning

Pomerantz and I were due to give evidence at the trial of Sammy Jurgens, a friend of Shelley Briscoe’s. Between us we thought we had enough evidence to get the man put away for many years to come. Before we went into the courtroom Vince said he needed to visit the men's room, I was going to go as well, but before I could I was called to the telephone. It was the captain and for once there was some good news; the DA had come up with a surprise witness, someone who could not only tie a can to Briscoe’s tail, but would also be able to plough under his entire organization. It was just as well the DA had this witness; a man by the name of Danziger because the defence attorney in the courtroom was so hard on Pomerantz that our case fell apart and Sammy Jurgens was back on the street within the hour. Still, considering the man can’t walk round a corner without committing a felony I knew it wouldn’t be long before he and I became re-acquainted. Disappointed, we picked up Saperstein and headed back to the precinct.

Wednesday evening

Once back in my office Frank came in and told me that he’d just spoken to the DA and it was all systems go with Danziger, and the Grand Jury had issued a subpoena for Shelley Briscoe. I grabbed the opportunity to serve it to him personally. Saperstein and Stavros had been tailing him all afternoon and he was currently to be found enjoying a meal in a swanky joint up town with his family and ‘friends’.

I arrived at the restaurant just in time to witness Vince Pomerantz throwing a glass of champagne over Briscoe. Apparently the wine had been a gift and he was showing his 'appreciation'. I agreed with his sentiment although I DID suggest that he might have drunk the champagne first and then slugged Brisco with the empty bottle. I took great pleasure in personally serving the subpoena, and then joined Vince and his wife at their table. I was surprised to find them in such a joint, but Vince said it was their wedding anniversary, so I figured that since it was such a special occasion he’d obviously saved up to treat ‘Tish’ to a nice meal, and thought nothing more of it. 

Thursday morning

I was chatting with Frank in my office; or rather Frank was talking to me, reminding me yet again that I needed to get my firearms certification renewed when Crocker rushed in to say there had been a stabbing in a bar on the East Side. I told him to go, and to take Pomerantz with him, but apparently Vince had gone out somewhere. As there was no-one else available I told Crocker to go on ahead and that I’d get Pomerantz to join him when he returned. In the meantime I had an appointment in Madison Square Park with 'Midge' Piper, one of my informants. 

Thursday afternoon

I arrived back at the precinct in a state of shock. Talk about history repeating itself. I’d met Piper in the park over by the pretzel stand as arranged, and as we walked and ate he told me that Shelley Briscoe was currently sweating bullets, that he’d gone 80% bananas when I served him with the subpoena. He asked if the rumours were true that the DA had a surprise witness, I said nothing. However it transpired that Briscoe wasn’t particularly worried since he’d bought himself some protection: a ‘flat foot’. The news took me all the way back to Sam Calucci who being so desperate for a gold shield had allowed himself to be bought by some small time hustler who had been robbing the bad guys while my officer was out arresting them. I never thought I’d find myself in this situation again.

It turned out I wasn’t the only one in a state of shock. Back at the precinct Pomerantz told me how Crocker had saved his life after he’d got himself grabbed by a very drunk and very angry Irishman called Tommy O’Halloran and reckoned he was now ten years nearer to his pension. Investigating the knifing of one Charlie Macguire my two detectives had gone down into a basement to confront O'Halloran but Pomerantz had been caught off guard and grabbed from behind. Thankfully Crocker was carrying his spare piece and managed to take the mad Irishman down.

Friday morning

I finally got round to visiting the firing range before the Commissioner personally relieved me of my ‘hardware’. Pomerantz was also at the range, and just finishing up when I walked in. The officer in charge told me that Vince had been at the range three days in a row. Alarm bells began ringing in my head. As far as I could recall in nine years he’d been a cop Pomerantz had never used his gun, so why was he suddenly spending extra time at the range. Something wasn’t right, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

Saturday morning

On my way into work I stopped off at a jeweller’s shop and bought a nice silver tea pot for Vince and ‘Tish’ as a belated anniversary gift. I was getting tangled up with the bows and the ribbons and the fingers and that, and seeing Stavros in the squad room I called him into my office to lend me a hand, or rather a finger. He admired the gift, but informed me that the Pomerantz’s anniversary wasn’t for another four months; he knew this because his kid sister Katherine had been one of their bridesmaids. He asked me what had given me the idea their anniversary had recently passed and I told him that Vince had mentioned it in the restaurant on Wednesday evening, when I’d served the subpoena on Shelley Briscoe. Stavros told me that Vince had probably been teasing; that he had been pretty edgy that night; so much so that for a second he and Saperstein had the impression that Vince had thought HE was the person under surveillance. Suddenly the pieces began to slide into place and my blood ran cold. I needed to find Pomerantz, and fast. 

As far as I was aware the man was on leave, but when I ran into the captain’s office he told me that Saperstein had phoned in with a list of woes; his kid had fallen off his skateboard, his wife Dora was in the hospital, his mother in law (who was supposed to be minding his son) had got the shingles and the dog had flunked its rabies test etc etc. There being no one else available he’d had to recall Vince back from leave to assist Crocker in driving to Riverdale to bring our surprise witness into town. I ordered Rizzo to call Vince’s apartment, but here was no reply. We checked with the phone supervisor who reported that the phone was off the hook. I told Rizzo to call Riverdale and tell them to sit on the witness and not to make any moves until I got there. In the meantime I grabbed Stavros and headed out to the Pomerantz residence. 

****

I parked the car outside the apartment building near a public telephone and asked Stavros to call Rizzo to see if he’d managed to contact Riverdale while I went inside. I ran up to Vince’s apartment and ‘Tish’ answered the door wearing a beautiful and expensive looking robe. She was worried. Vince had gone out, she told me, and had left her a mysterious note saying that no matter what happened he loved her. She knew something was going on, but her husband hadn’t told her anything. As I sat talking to her more pieces of the puzzle slipped into place; the exclusive restaurant the other evening, the expensive perfume she’d been wearing, the fur coat. I looked round the apartment at the new drapes, the new stereo and the brand new twenty-five-inch television set. I wanted to think they were anniversary presents, or that Vince had recently lost a very rich uncle, but I knew none of that was true, and in that moment I realised Pomerantz was the ‘flat foot’ Briscoe had bought and he was currently out with Crocker and our surprise witness. 

I asked ‘Tish’ why she thought Vince would go to the firing range three days in a row. She said she had no idea. I asked her about the expensive perfume and coat she’d been wearing at the restaurant. She told me what Vince had told HER; that he’d helped a friend out. Some friend I thought. She said she hadn’t pried because she had seen that he didn’t want her to, that suddenly things had changed; they were drinking champagne for the first time and talking about buying a house in Nyack and starting a family. It was as she said ‘the yellow brick road’, and she never wanted it to end. But it had, hadn’t it? I told her that I’d recently spoken to an informant who’d told me that Briscoe claimed to have a cop in his pocket, and that if anyone had suggested Vince I would have punched them out. At that moment ‘Tish’ got up to answer a knock at the door.

Standing in the doorway was Stavros, looking worried. He reported that the ‘boat had already sailed’. Quickly I grabbed my coat and we left the apartment. Getting into the car we headed off in the direction of Riverdale. It had been arranged that Crocker and Pomerantz would collect Danziger in a bullet proof hearse and they would drive into the city along the quiet service road that ran through the area. I just hoped we could intercept them before it was too late. I tried not to think about the danger Crocker might be in right now.

****

We arrived in the snow-covered neighbourhood to find the hearse stopped in the middle of the service road, Vince was lying face-down on the ground next to the vehicle and Crocker was pinned down behind a tree. Two men were firing at him. He managed to take one of them down, and between the three of us we surrounded the other, who quickly surrendered. I ordered Stavros to cuff him and take him away. 

Crocker ran over to Vince and gently rolled him onto his back. The two detectives had known one another for years: they'd grown up in the same neighbourhood. I could see his hand was shaking with emotion as he gently re-arranged the collar on his friend's coat. I offered him my own coat to use as a blanket, not that it would do much good. Not now. Pomerantz looked at Crocker and made some comment about him not even having singed pin feathers. Crocker smiled and said that was because he led a charmed life. Vince smiled back and told him it was because he was a charmer. Stavros ran up and told me he couldn’t find Danziger anywhere. Vince told us that before the balloon had gone up he'd taken him into the woods and cuffed him to an elm tree and if the bears hadn’t eaten him he should be as good as new. He then said he couldn’t feel his legs: that he knew he was dying. He offered me a death-bed statement, but all I wanted to know was WHY? He told me I wouldn’t understand, and then said something about buying ‘Tish’ a coat. He was right, I didn’t understand, but I could see that Crocker did. He asked us to tell his wife something but died before telling us what he wanted her to know. I gently closed his eyes and slowly walked away. I knew that Crocker would want a few minutes alone with his friend and I needed to think of something to say to 'Tish'. 

****

One week later

It was late at night and I was sitting at my desk. I’d spent most of the day in court attending Shelley Briscoe’s trial, and the man had been singing like a canary. Not only had I learned how my detective had been bought, but also how much it had cost; ten thousand to let ‘Dinky’ Geller escape from our carefully organized stake-out (taken by Vince from the open safe in the 'office'), another ten thousand from Briscoe to ‘forget' vital evidence which had allowed Sammy Jurgens to walk free (supplied by someone he'd met in the men’s room at the court house), and another fifty thousand to set up the killing of Danziger, our surprise witness, and Crocker (to be paid once the ‘job’ was done).

The ‘job’ had been for Pomerantz to sabotage the hearse (Forensics discovered a wire had been pulled out from under the ignition) He was then supposed to have gone for help leaving Danziger alone in the hearse with Crocker. After a suitable amount of time had passed Pomerantz would return to the vehicle and find two bodies inside. And of course having gone for assistance he would have had the perfect alibi.

But something had happened. Crocker mentioned that Vince, or ‘Vinnie’ as he'd always called him had slipped on the ice and sprained his ankle, which meant HE'D had to go for help instead. The autopsy report mentioned that Pomerantz had died from a single gunshot wound, but there was no sign of a sprained ankle, or any other injury. Knowing he was about to be found out I wondered if Vince had sacrificed himself to repay Crocker for saving his life in that basement last week? Strange as that might sound I suspected that was exactly what had happened, but of course I would never be able to prove it.

Two weeks later

Vince’s funeral had taken place at his local church in Jackson Heights the place where, had I known it two curly-haired kids had met years before and had, despite the difference in their ages, become friends. They'd even joined the force at the same time. The service had been packed with friends and relatives and the squad, all in uniform, had formed the honour guard. It’s a rare sight, my men willingly wearing their uniforms, but they all looked splendid, particularly Crocker with the commendation ribbons on his jacket above his gold shield. After the burial he’d introduced me to Pomerantz’s brothers and his sister. My detective had been quieter than usual these past weeks which was understandable and I wasn’t surprised when he walked away from the crowd of people, wanting some space. I watched as he walked slowly among the headstones. He stopped and lightly touched one and then went and stood on the small bridge which spanned the stream that ran through the middle of the cemetery. After I while I walked over to join him. The snow had been moved on the gravestone where he’d paused: his foster father Artie Donovan. 

I asked him if he was alright, he nodded slightly. He looked as if he’d not slept in days.

“All he wanted was to buy her a coat,” he said quietly, reminding me of what Pomerantz had said just before he died. He’d told me that I wouldn’t understand, but I knew Crocker did. I looked at my detective hoping he would enlighten me. 

“I knew his old man lieutenant: he was a brakeman on the subway; six feet two and built like a Sherman tank. When we were kids he used to let us ride with him.” Crocker began, smiling at the memory. “When he passed away last year ‘Vinnie’ told me that he didn’t believe his death had been caused by the stroke but by an incident from years before.” We stood in silence for a while, and then he quietly began to tell me the tale of the coat.

“There were six mouths to feed and every Saturday his old lady would be sitting at the kitchen table with envelopes everywhere; one for Con-Ed, one for the gas company, one for the doctor, one for his sister Edna’s piano teacher... He reckoned there must have been at least a dozen of them. He said that every Saturday night his old man would walk in, give her a peck on the cheek and then turn over his wages. Anyway, apparently she used to have this ratty old cloth coat which was falling apart, and eventually he persuaded her to buy a new one. She’d seen a coat she really liked in Klein’s and she started saving up to buy it, putting a little money aside each week. But that wasn’t what his old man had in mind. He wanted her to forget the bills, just once, and walk right into the shop and buy it, but she wouldn’t budge. So one day he sneaked five dollars from the cookie jar and bet it on a two-year-old at the Aqueduct Racetrack. ‘Vinnie’ said he never forgot the look on his old man’s face when he turned up at home with that coat from Klein’s. But she refused to wear it, and it remained in its box on a shelf in her bedroom closet until she died. She was punishing him you see. It didn’t matter that he’d won the money to pay for the thing; people like them she said didn’t have any business taking chances. She believed that whatever fate dealt us; that was the hand we had to play. ‘Vinnie’ reckoned that although it was twelve years later when his old man had his fatal stroke, he'd really died the day he'd given her that coat.”

I looked back across the cemetery at ‘Tish’ who was happily chatting with a group of people. She was still wearing the expensive fur that Vince had bought with the money he’d taken from Briscoe. He’d paid a high price for that coat; I just hoped it was worth it.


End file.
